Page 4 of I Love to Hate You
“Is it just me, or is Professor Lovelle getting hotter now that we’re about to graduate?” Eddie remarks as we weave our way into the flow of traffic moving in both directions. I turn around to glare at him, but he continues. “If I wasn’t dating you, I’d really think about talking to her after we throw our caps in the air. I wonder if she’s on Tinder or something. That’d be funny, wouldn't it?”
I don't know how it’s possible for a man to say so many idiotic things in a row without knowing they’re doing it—without realizing that death is staring them directly in the face in the form of a livid woman. It’s truly an unreal feat that men pull off so well. If I frowned any harder, the look would surely become permanent, but Eddie doesn’t notice until he’s done digging the hole for himself and finally looks at me.
“Oh … what?” he has the nerve to ask.
“Are you out of your mind?” I snip. “You’re my boyfriend. You think I want to listen to you lust after one of our professors? You think I want to hear you all but admit to me that you're going to look for her on Tinder? Seriously, Eddie, what the hell is wrong with you?”
“It was ajoke,” he replies with a smile that is more nervous than playful. “You take things too seriously, Maya.”
I try to pinch my lips together, but the words break through the barricade. “I take things too seriously? Why are you trying to piss me off right now? I told you what happened as I was leaving the house this morning, and this is how you choose to act—complimenting another woman and telling me I’m too serious? Thank you. My already bad mood has been made worse.”
Eddie throws his hands up and takes a step back, bumping a girl behind him without apologizing. “Look, I know you don't have another class for a little while, but I’ve got accounting right now, so I guess I’ll just catch up with you later. I’ll text you. Maybe we can meet up once we’re done with classes and do a little something.”
I continue burning a hole into his forehead from staring so hard, because I can tell from the way he saida little somethingthat the head he’s thinking with isn’t the one on his shoulders.
“I don't know what kind of mood I’ll be in later,” I respond, my frown as powerful as a gunshot to the chest. “I might be taking things too seriously to doa little something.”
Eddie huffs. “Seriously? Look, I know your dad is a drunk asshole and he put you in a bad mood, but don’t take it out on me.” He moves closer and grabs my hands, pulling me in. “Come on. After a shitty day, don’t you want to be my little girl?”
I jolt back, my brows knitting together so hard they’re nearly touching. “Be your little girl? Is that supposed to be sexy talk?”
“Well, yeah. Girl’s love that kind of shit nowadays.”
“Nobody wants to be called a little girl,” I fire back. “Maybe some guys can pull off stuff like that when it’s said in a certain way, but none that I’ve ever met, and definitely not you. You sound like a pedo. Please stop. Forever.”
Eddie steps back and drops my hands. “Wow, you're really on it today, aren't you? Just forget it then. I’ve gotta go to class. I’ll talk to you … later.”
“Fine,” I say back, ignoring the sudden stab of guilt in my gut.
In the three months Eddie and I have been dating, he has always been a jokester. I may not get everything he does, but I know he’s kidding around. It’s not his fault we have completely different senses of humor. On the other hand, he did just lust after our professor to my face. So, fuck it.
Eddie and I go our separate ways. He walks down the hall to my left, while I turn right and head toward the cafeteria to grab a quick bite to eat before going to my logistical strategies class. On my way, I try to keep my eyes focused on where I’m going just like anyone else would when they’re walking somewhere, but I keep noticing the eyes of people I’m passing. Some of them look at me as I approach and step out of the way to let me by, only to keep staring as I walk down the hall. If I didn't know any better, I would think I was a celebrity at Temple U, but these people don’t want my autograph, they want peace from me. They want me to walk past them without acting on how much they annoy me, and they don't know that it’s much easier said than done.
When I hit the cafeteria, I cross the white tile floor to the far side of the room where the stainless steel food counters await, with kind-faced women standing behind them ready to divvy up food to anyone looking for something on the go. A rotund woman rocking a plastic white apron hands me a sandwich when I ask for it, while another gives me a knock-off version of blue Gatorade that will taste like half Gatorade, half I have no fucking idea. I don't dwell on it, though. I just need a quick energy boost before sitting in my most boring class of the day.
I take my sandwich and non-Gatorade and have a seat at an empty table close to the door I came in. As I unwrap the plastic to the sandwich, I think about what happened with Eddie just now, and it makes me even more annoyed. Maybe it’s just a bad day, or maybe I’m realizing for the first time that Eddie and I might not be made for each other. When we first got together, I wasn’t looking to find the person that was made for me anyway. I just liked the attention he was giving me at the time. We all need a little companionship—even people like me—and we put up with a lot of shit when we first start dating someone because what we feel is brand new and exciting, and those feelings can drown out the noise of annoyance. Over time, the annoyance starts to chip away at the barricade, showing itself in little bits and pieces at first, until eventually you can see the entire thing. Is that what this is? Is my barrier for Eddie’s annoying tendencies eroding over time? Are Eddie and I just too different to be together?
“Oh shit!”
My concentration is broken up by someone shouting at the table next to me. Confused, I look up from my half-eaten sandwich to find people starting to rush their way to the side of the cafeteria where I picked up my food. There’s a loud bang that sounds like someone just tripped and fell, and a group of people has formed into a tight gaggle by the wall, as the same staffers who handed me my sandwich and drink run out of the room. I assume they’re going to get more staff members and the police, because only a fight can draw this much attention this fast.
The noise of the growing crowd fuels my curiosity to the point where I can no longer stay seated. I have to know what’s going on, so I place my food on top of the plastic and leave the table. The closer I get to the crowd, the more I can hear. People are letting out oohs and ahhs while the unmistakable sound of flesh hitting flesh echoes off the walls.
“Okay! Okay, stop. I’ll tell him,” someone screams at the top of their lungs, followed by another slap of fist-on-face contact.
I force my way to the front of the crowd just in time to see the final punch land on the face of a kid who clearly can’t defend himself from the guy on top of him, because he’s just too small. The guy doing the beating isnotsmall, and even as he glares down at his victim with a calm fury in his eyes, the sight of him still makes me pause.
His skin is caramel brown, his eyes light brown, while his well-manicured hair is as black as the darkest of night, matching his demeanor. Two male staffers and one campus police officer pull him off of the guy on the floor and immediately begin to drag him out of the room, but before he goes, his eyes somehow find mine. He doesn’t flash some dumb ass smile to try to look like the hot mean kid in school. Instead, he glares at me, pain and anger still emanating from his face. He doesn't even look down at the kid he just finished pummeling. He keeps his eyes on me, scowling the entire time until the moment he’s dragged out of the cafeteria and the doors close behind him.
The bloody kid struggles to pick himself up, but he’s assisted by the woman who gave me my sandwich earlier. One of his eyes is already starting to turn black and blue, and his lip is a tiny faucet spilling a pool onto the floor beneath him. I don't know who he is or what he did to the other guy, but it must’ve been something very serious to take that kind of a beating.
“Damn, Kendrick really did a number on him,” says a girl standing next to me, drawing my attention.
“Who?” I inquire.
When she looks at me, I see the recognition in her face, but she keeps her nerves in check. “That was Kendrick Kennedy,” she answers.
“Kendrick Kennedy?” I ask.
